


Out of Time

by Sed



Series: Across Enemy Lines [7]
Category: World of Warcraft
Genre: Age Difference, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Time Travel, Canon-Typical Violence, Established Relationship, M/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Other Ships Not Mentioned in Tags, References to Depression, Series, Size Difference, Time Travel, Trauma
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-03
Updated: 2021-02-03
Packaged: 2021-03-14 13:01:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,862
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29171517
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sed/pseuds/Sed
Summary: Saurfang believes he has devised a way to put an end to the threat posed by Sylvanas and her most powerful servants, but it requires something they will have to reach deep into the past to retrieve.
Relationships: Varok Saurfang/Anduin Wrynn
Series: Across Enemy Lines [7]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1182515
Comments: 9
Kudos: 24





	Out of Time

**Author's Note:**

> I can't even remember when I started writing this, but it's been in the works for a while. This is going to be a fairly long story, as I've planned it, but I'm hoping to keep to a regular posting schedule if I can. As always, character tags will be added as they appear in the story.
> 
> It is not necessary to have read the short stories in [Behind the Lines](https://archiveofourown.org/works/24602407/chapters/59429908), but there may be a few things referenced here and there that were explained in that collection.

Months went by in relative silence. The Horde and the Alliance had both sounded a general retreat, rationalizing the choice independent of one another to simply withdraw and lick their own wounds in silence following the events in Durotar. But time passed, and although both sides of the conflict seemed content to wait out the winter, Anduin knew that with the spring would come a restlessness. They were still at war, and no ceasefire would quell the fury that simmered just below the surface, poised to erupt with the slightest provocation.

Baine’s rebellion, thus far stalled in its infancy, had done little to dislodge Sylvanas’ stranglehold on the Horde. A direct assault on their defenses would only end in disaster, and the disgraced high chieftain simply did not have the means to launch so bold an attack on his own. Subterfuge had proven equally useless. With the Horde locked down and its armies withdrawn to the most defensible positions, infiltration was impossible. Baine was left with no other option but to wait, as they all were, hoping for some news, some change in the wind that would mean his opportunity had come. Until then, he maintained a careful distance from his people, keeping himself well clear of Mulgore for their own safety. Sylvanas needed the tauren to fill out the ranks of the Horde soldiers. It was clear she would not harm them so long as Baine made no attempt to recruit Thunder Bluff into his rebellion. But it was an untenable position for both parties, and one that could not last.

In Darkshore, Tyrande Whisperwind, Malfurion Stormrage, and their closest allies continued to fight to win back the land that had been stolen from them by the Horde. The specter of Teldrassil’s withered corpse still loomed over the twilight landscape, a constant reminder of the sins committed against so many, and the innocent lives lost in the name of conquest. Word from the kaldorei resistance had been scarce, but regular enough to keep Anduin informed, and to put Genn and Mia at ease regarding their daughter Tess’ safety. Every so often Tyrande made certain to remind Saurfang of an agreement that had been struck between the two, the terms of which Saurfang had not yet divulged to Anduin. That would no doubt rear its head sooner or later.

At home in Stormwind, the night elves and the remaining Horde refugees were at quiet odds with one another, living so close together as they were. Anduin made every effort to see that no one went without, but in the cold months the bitter reality of living off the charity of others, sleeping in tents and facing the elements with minimal protection, often magnified small problems, making them seem much bigger. More than once the guards had been called in to break up fights. Broken noses and fractured bones had been the worst of it, thank the Light, but it was only a matter of time before something worse happened. Before someone strayed too close, lingered too long.

Time was running out for the Alliance, and the fear that the Horde would emerge from its slumber more powerful than before was palpable in the keep. Anduin’s generals were anxious, ready to strike back, yet none seemed prepared to make the first move. Jaina had sent another fleet from Boralus to bolster their forces, one crewed by vetted and trustworthy men and women of Kul Tiras, but the gesture was little better than a symbolic show of force; they could not sail for Kalimdor. All twenty-eight vessels remained moored in Stormwind Harbor, or just beyond it, their sails tied down and a minimal complement aboard to keep the ships functional in the event that they were needed. Like everyone else, they were simply waiting.

All this Anduin considered carefully as he lay in his bed, his face tucked into the warm curve of Saurfang’s back. Lucky to be so safe, so at ease. He had been awake for some time, only thinking. From the corner of his eye he’d watched the dawn crawl across the ceiling, illuminating the white-gray stone of the keep and coming to warm the bed and its occupants.

Saurfang had been awake nearly as long, but he had seemed determined to pretend as though he was still asleep, and Anduin, perhaps unwilling to surrender to the inevitability of the day himself, was content to let him.

Eventually he felt Saurfang’s great shape shift, and a hand reached back to stroke his thigh. “It’s fortunate I had no intention of going back to sleep,” Saurfang muttered. “I can hear you thinking.”

“I was contemplating how best to steal your warmth.”

That earned him a light swat, and muttered Orcish just for his benefit. Something akin to _brat_ , he thought.

Saurfang rolled out of the bed and shuffled off to relieve himself. Anduin gladly shifted over into the warm recess he’d left behind, burrowing in and sighing contentedly. If only the morning could be the whole of his day.

“I have six meetings,” he said, loud enough for Saurfang to hear in the other room. A grunt of acknowledgement told him the message had been received. “I assume you intend to spend your time in the library.”

It had become Saurfang’s haunt in recent weeks, the library. He spent hours every day surrounded by the keep’s vast collection of tomes, scrolls, and other ancient literature, seeking something he had never shared with anyone. Not even Anduin and Genn. At first it had seemed strange to many of the castle’s inhabitants, finding an orc with his nose buried in a book nearly every day. But over time the sight had lost its novelty. Anduin was never surprised, of course. He knew the wealth of knowledge already residing within his lover’s mind, and a desire for more was perhaps the least remarkable thing about him, though no less charming for it.

“Varok?” he called when there was no answer to his question.

A moment later Saurfang appeared, wiping his hands on a towel, which he left draped across the back of a chair. He was shaking his head. “I have business in the Mage Quarter.”

“Mysterious business, or may I inquire about what you’re up to?”

He received no answer to that, either. Instead, Saurfang made his way back over to the bed and crawled under the blankets, resuming his previous spot, this time with Anduin beneath him. “You may inquire,” he said, nuzzling Anduin’s chin with his nose, “or you may do something more enjoyable with your tongue.”

Anduin opened his mouth to speak, but a finger against his lips stopped him.

“You may not do both.”

“Well, that hardly seems like a choice at all, does it,” Anduin murmured. He opened his mouth and sucked on the finger that had been used to shush him, caressing it with his tongue and drawing sounds from Saurfang that stirred far more than just his curiosity.

“Good choice,” Saurfang said.

  
Anduin emerged from his second meeting of the day with an exasperated sigh. He should have stayed in bed. A day lazing about in the arms of his mate would have been more productive than quibbling over trivialities with nobles who had a very unrealistic—and frankly atrocious—concept of what it took to win a war. By the end he was certain most of them would have preferred if he had actually succeeded in blighting Orgrimmar.

At least they had left the matter of Saurfang’s presence in the keep, and the rumors of his role at the king’s side, alone. They seemed to know better, or else they were too busy attempting to divine which of the many circulating rumors was true: that Anduin was bewitched by strange, shamanistic magics; that he had used his own powers to tame the savage brute who shared his bed; that Saurfang had some sort of leverage over him, and was using it to ensure his place within the heart of the Alliance; and Anduin’s personal favorite—the truth. That Anduin and Saurfang had simply fallen in love. That version, however, conveniently failed to include that Saurfang had willingly given his life for Darkshore, nearly given it again to save Anduin, and had single handedly prevented the deaths of hundreds of Alliance troops at Anduin’s hand, to say nothing of who he might have gone on to slaughter had he not been stopped. Fortunately, that truth was at least known by those whose opinions mattered most. Whose loyalty was assured by the very deeds others were so quick to dismiss as fanciful details. Still, it was grating to endure their curious and judgmental glances.

“Lord Covington begs His Majesty’s pardon, but an urgent matter has called him away. He will not be able to attend your noon meeting,” a steward told Anduin as he stepped out into the hall. “Shall I bring him a message in reply?”

“Please tell him I sincerely hope all is well, and look forward to rescheduling at his earliest convenience.”

“Of course, Your Majesty.”

What tedium. He longed for the simplicity of a morning with Saurfang, or an afternoon spent sparring with Genn. It wasn’t that he enjoyed swordplay—on the contrary, he enjoyed it even _less_ since Durotar—but the straightforward nature of the movement, the easy conversation, it cleared his mind. His days were filled with war planning, pleasantries, and decorum, and he was so immensely tired of it all. Had been tired for months. It didn’t take a great deal of thought to trace his recent lethargy to its source, either.

He didn’t have much time to think about that before Genn appeared, almost as if summoned by Anduin’s thoughts. “A little bird has told me you have a few hours to spare,” he said, falling into step at Anduin’s side.

“A little bird, or a little page?”

“Why quibble over the difference.”

Anduin would never say it, but he had noticed a change in Genn since Durotar. One that was certainly for the better, and yet so strange as to give him pause whenever he encountered evidence of it in Genn’s behavior, or his opinions. He seemed… lighter. Less burdened. Anduin wanted to believe it was his friendship with Saurfang, which both men would adamantly deny, that had been the catalyst for that change. It would be nice to think that their shared trials had forged some sort of bond. “Did you have need of me?” he asked.

“Nothing specific,” Genn said. “I just thought you might enjoy a bit of a reprieve.”

“What did you have in mind?”

“I thought we might find that big brute of yours and take lunch together. I would hate to think of what he might do if he gets too hungry.”

Ah. Mia was away, then. Genn always came looking for company during his meals when his beloved wife was busy elsewhere. Frequently that ended up being Saurfang, but Anduin was included often enough. “Varok is busy,” he said.

“Busy? Doing what, sharpening his teeth?”

“I don’t really know,” Anduin admitted. He ignored Genn’s attempt at an insult; he knew it was all bluster anyway. Just the way the two men showed affection. It was exhausting sometimes, but still preferable to the alternative. “He left this morning. Evidently he has business in the Mage Quarter.”

“He has had a great deal of _business_ lately.”

“Don’t tell me you’re suspicious of him?” Anduin asked incredulously. After all they had been through?

He caught a furrow in Genn’s brow, and a small frown that told him the real answer: Genn was worried. But was it for Saurfang, or Anduin? “What has you so wary, Genn?” Anduin asked quietly. They reached the throne room, which was blessedly empty apart from the guards. Anduin gestured to the garden outside. They could have a quiet word there, as they so often did.

“Anduin, I feel as though certain… matters… are best left to lie, don’t you?” He watched Anduin expectantly, a look that Anduin couldn’t entirely identify tugging at the creases on his face.

“Genn…?” Anduin started to ask, but a sudden commotion in the throne room behind them interrupted the conversation, and Anduin hurried across the garden to see what was wrong.

He found Saurfang amidst the guards, shoulders heaving with barely-suppressed rage as he attempted to explain himself with swords and halberds pointed at his neck.

“What is the meaning of this?” Anduin demanded. “Stand down at once!” It had been a long time since anyone had dared stand in Saurfang’s way within the keep. To suddenly encounter that resistance again was jarring for all three of them. Even Genn was growling at the assembled guards, the warning sound of it churning deep in his throat.

They lowered their weapons, albeit it slowly, and Anduin motioned them aside. “Lord Saurfang is not merely a guest here, and certainly not a prisoner. Nor is he restricted from anywhere within the keep.”

These guards were new, recently vetted and installed within the keep to replace the Greyguard who had served as Anduin’s royal guard since his return from Darkshore. They simply didn’t know Saurfang as Anduin, Genn, and the other staff of the keep did. They certainly didn’t know about his relationship with their king.

It suddenly occurred to Anduin that he was potentially placing himself in the same situation as before: trusting soldiers with his life who might not approve of their king’s choices. What if these men and women betrayed him, too?

What if they were successful this time?

“Get out, all of you,” he snapped without thinking.

Genn turned sharply, opening his mouth to speak, but Anduin put a hand up to stop him. He and Saurfang exchanged a furtive glance Anduin was certain they hadn’t intended for him to see. Neither was what one would call particularly adept at stealth, however.

As the guards filed out, Anduin breathed a long sigh. “I am not corrupted by an Old God, before either of you begins worrying.”

Both Genn and Saurfang began speaking at once, making their excuses, neither of them doing a very good job of it.

“Oh, just stop,” Anduin said impatiently. “I’ve only realized that we may have taken certain things for granted, that’s all. I will speak to Master Shaw about my personal guard when he returns.”

“If he returns,” Genn said.

Saurfang chuckled. The low rumble of it washed over Anduin like a warm spring wind, ushering out the winter around them. He was certain he would never tire of the sound. It was lucky enough he still had the privilege to hear it. “And just what,” he demanded, feigning irritation, “do you two find so amusing?”

“Nothing at all, of course,” Genn said, but Anduin knew better. Shaw was off on what was, to the best of anyone’s knowledge, the first vacation the man had ever taken in his life. Both Genn and Saurfang seemed to believe that one taste of freedom meant he would never come back.

Not that the thought hadn’t crossed Anduin’s mind as well.

“At any rate, Varok, you startled my guards for some purpose, I assume?” Anduin asked. The gentle rebuke was received with all the unspoken amusement he expected, and Saurfang inclined his head in some imitation of a bow.

“Of course, Your Majesty.” He straightened up, gesturing back the way Anduin and Genn had come. “I suggest we discuss this somewhere more private. Less… inclined to echo.”

“Perhaps if you didn’t bellow every word,” Genn muttered.

“How else would I expect to be heard over your howling, old wolf?”

They reconvened their informal court in the garden, under the meager shade of the barren trees. Anduin longed for warmth, if not for the certainty of war it would bring along with it.

“Is this to do with whatever is it that’s kept you holed up in the library day after day?” Genn asked. He crossed his arms and looked up at Saurfang, and Anduin suspected he would have liked to have been looking down, instead. Of course he could, if he transformed.

Saurfang nodded. “I have been searching for something. Something old and powerful. Something I had assumed must have been lost when the first Horde came to this world, or else consumed in some fiend’s lust for greater power.” He cast a wary glance in Genn’s direction, but not for worry—it was as though he sought permission. Some unspoken leave to visit whatever this was upon them all.

“And?” Anduin prompted gently. He knew how close to the chest Saurfang had been holding this research of his, though he had never suspected the true purpose. Anduin had a general understanding of the various tomes and scrolls Saurfang had been requesting from the librarian, and the inquiries that had been sent out to Dalaran, Ironforge, and even Karazhan on his behalf. Whatever it was he sought, he must have been certain of its significance.

Saurfang’s eyes, at other times such a warm, golden brown that Anduin could become lost in their depths, grew hard and grave. “I’ve found it,” he said.


End file.
